


Touch of Grey

by happyisahabit



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A Death in the Family, Angst, Comfort, Crying, Death, Depression, Gen, Immediately after battle of Naxela, Post-Season/Series 04, Touch Aversion, give Matt a break for his delays in this one, reacting to news of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyisahabit/pseuds/happyisahabit
Summary: Pidge barely realizes she’s shaking until Matt grabs her into a tight embrace. It lasts longer than usual, but she’s so shell-shocked by her own body’s responses that he is pushing her away before she can reciprocate. “Matt-”“Not here, Katie.”





	Touch of Grey

“It wasn’t me,” Keith says. “It was Lotor. The cannon on his ship was the only thing able to penetrate the shield.”

Everything after that is something of a blur- of tears, a cacophony of voices both jubilant and questioning. Pidge learns that Keith had been in the process-  _ not just prepared, but in the action of-  _ sacrificing himself. She learns that there are rebel losses to grieve and a slew of meetings that will be held between their coalition’s factions and the newly exiled Galran Prince. Her presence is expected, but Matt’s comm message is more pressing to her.

It’s just a short message, but the seriousness in his voice and the tightness of his syllables is different from his usual speech. It has her pumping the muscles in her legs when she lands in her hangar and gets confirmation that Matt’s ship has docked.

_ “You need to see me right away when you get to the Castle. I have something I need to tell you  _ now _.” _

Her brother is almost out of the bay when she arrives and by then, the trek through the many halls between them has left her already shredded nerves on their last threads. The last battle had not been kind nor easy and the very real prospect of dying had reared its ugly head into more light than ever before. When their eyes lock, the familiar color doesn’t soothe her like it should, but instead sends her into a cold shiver. The look he has on his face is gaunt and his whole being looks weighed down by the events of the last quintant, or whatever it is that he has to say.

Pidge barely realizes she’s shaking until Matt grabs her into a tight embrace. It lasts longer than usual, but she’s so shell-shocked by her own body’s responses that he is pushing her away before she can reciprocate. “Matt-”

“Not here, Katie.”

Use of her given name strikes her in another strange pang and she gets a funny feeling that what Matt is going to say doesn’t have to do with the battle at all. He hasn’t let go of his firm grim on her arms and tugs her down a corridor that doesn’t lead to the bridge, meeting hall, or dormitories. No people would be in this part of the castle. They end up in a hangar that is relegated for storage crates they use on humanitarian missions, passing food and hygiene items out to refugees.

Between the large crates, Matt makes her sit and she stares up at him as he paces stiffly in front of her. He pinches the bridge of his nose like he has a stress headache and stops abruptly, inhaling and holding the air. Pidge feels a familiar heat beneath the skin on her face and behind her eyes. She grips her hands together tightly to try and stop the tremors.

“Matt, you’re scaring me…”

This makes him turn and he kneels before her, eyes wide and rimmed red.

“Oh, Katie, I’m-” he hiccups. Matt places his hands on her knees, thumbs pressing down firmly. “I’m so… so-so sorry. I have to- I mean, I meant to say so earlier, but- and then today with everything that happened… I just couldn’t, not when either of us could have- have di- Katie…”

Pidge curls in on herself more as he rambles, her dread growing. She thinks she lets out her question- what is it, why, explain- but it probably comes out as an unintelligible noise. He breaks eye contact with her and his grip increases; she can feel him shaking, almost the same frequency as herself.

“I-I didn’t… didn’t want you giving up hope.”

Suddenly, she **knows**.

The tears well before she even acknowledges the bitter truth written in every line on Matt’s face. Everything is hot and gross and she feels uncomfortable in her own skin. The blood strumming in her veins irritates her with its pulse, its loudness, its heat, its  _ consistency _ . She wants everything to stop as her brother pulls her into his lap like she was a child again, crying over scuffed knees and broken engines modified onto her bike.

But she isn’t crying over failed juvenile engineering projects. She cries for her father, for his death, for her failure. Matt’s rocking her back and forth, enfolding her as much as physically possible into his embrace. She barely feels it as her sobs die down into wracking silence. Matt’s babbling apologies through his own tears and Pidge tries to convey that he doesn’t owe an apology-  _ she does, its her fault- _ but she doubts it gets through to him since he only presses his face into her hair and holds her tighter.

When their bodies run out of liquid to convert to tears, they sit in silence for almost a varga. She is still camped on Matt’s lap, his hands not relieved of their tension. They’re exhausted, but sleep will be a long time coming.

“We should get some water.” Matt’s voice is broken and wrong, but he doesn’t trip over his words and his prioritization of water over rest is appreciated. “Can you stand?”

Pidge opens her mouth, but doesn’t speak. They engage in a strange dance of pushing and tugging to get to their feet and don’t let go of each other’s hands when they start walking towards the kitchens. Pidge flips open her location algorithm and tugs Matt back towards the dormitories when she sees too many people still about.

Her room has a small restroom with a refresher, the Altean version of a shower, and an equivalent to a sink. She also has a cache of water packets and small snacks stored for late nights of coding.

A short flip of a switch has the room locked from any sort of intrusion and Pidge pulls Matt to the sink where she finally lets go of his hand to wash her face. Minutes pass to find them sitting on her bed, second water pouches in hand, all armor discarded for civvies. Pidge is numb and barely hears Matt’s voice.

“When Keith… when he started his assault, I thought of it, of how I hadn’t told you yet.”

“...was it similar?”

“...yeah.”

She hums and presses their shoulders together. Everything feels completely real and yet without a shred of truth. Her brain has already accepted Matt’s truth, but begs for objective evidence first. She’s indifferent to the arm he slings around her.

“I… had him buried.”

Pidge flinches.

“I think… I’ve been there.”

Matt tucks her into his chest again, muttering and murmuring again. The hitch in his voice and the pressure of his palms on her head and back tell her he’s crying again. She is too, but something is bothering her more. The shell of her ear rests against his sternum and she  _ hears it. _

She hears a pulse, a heartbeat, a sign of life and for whatever reason, this makes her even more uncomfortable than the exhaustion that grips them both, but refuses to let them sleep.

It hurts to push him, to hurt Matt emotionally when he is already just as raw as she is, but she can’t handle it. She just can’t deal with the reality of life within another person, just as she can barely handle it within herself right now. 

She doesn’t wish herself, or Matt, or anyone dead, certainly; it is the reminder that Sam Holt, interstellar commander, doting father, loving husband, is no longer amongst the living.

Pidge feels Matt resisting and sees the abject look of horror and pain on his face.

“I can’t right now, but…” she takes his hand, twining their fingers together. “I just…”

He can’t hide his hurt, but does his best. They spend the sleep cycle awake, lying shoulder to shoulder, gazing blearily at Pidge’s string lights twinkling from the ceiling. Hands clasped and purposefully regulated breathing.

Pidge doesn’t think she will proceed through the grieving process anytime soon. But Matt is there and they’ve always been able to support each other when needed. The slightly sweaty palm against hers is affirmation that they are together and alive. Maybe one day she’d want more details on her dad’s final adventure, and maybe Matt one day will be ready to share it all. Today, though, they take the tiny comfort of family and another day lived. Whatever comes next, they would face it together.

Every silver lining has a touch of gray.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a pretty personal piece for me. It's nearing the fifth anniversary of my father's passing and I had just read some fics where Sam didn't make it. A lot of what Pidge feels is what I felt that day and the subsequent ones, including touch aversion and aversion to hearing another person's/my heartbeat. Sometimes I still feel that way. Dad was a big Grateful Dead fan, so the quote 'Every silver lining's got a touch of grey.'  
> Hope this piece moves you to tell those you care for that you love them. <3


End file.
